With these additaments to boot, we had on board a fellow-passenger, whose discourse in verity might have beguiled a longer voyage than we meditated, and have made mirth and wonder abound as far as the Azores.  He was a dark, Spanish complexioned young man, remarkably handsome, with an officer-like assurance, and an insuppressible volubility of assertion.  He was, in fact, the greatest liar I had met with then, or since.  He was none of your hesitating, half story-tellers (a most painful description of mortals) who go on sounding your belief, and only giving you as much as they see you can swallow at a time—­the nibbling pickpockets of your patience—­but one who committed downright, daylight depredations upon his neighbour’s faith.  He did not stand shivering upon the brink, but was a hearty thoroughpaced liar, and plunged at once into the depths of your credulity.  I partly believe, he made pretty sure of his company.  Not many rich, not many wise, or learned, composed at that time the common stowage of a Margate packet.  We were, I am afraid, a set of as unseasoned Londoners (let our enemies give it a worse name) as Aldermanbury, or Watling-street, at that time of day could have supplied.  There might be an exception or two among us, but I scorn to make any invidious distinctions among such a jolly, companionable ship’s company, as those were whom I sailed with.  Something too must be conceded to the Genius Loci.  Had the confident fellow told us half the legends on land, which he favoured us with on the other element, I flatter myself the good sense of most of us would have revolted.  But we were in a new world, with everything unfamiliar about us, and the time and place disposed us to the reception of any prodigious marvel whatsoever.  Time has obliterated from my memory much of his wild fablings; and the rest would appear but dull, as written, and to be read on shore.  He had been Aid-de-camp (among other rare accidents and fortunes) to a Persian prince, and at one blow had stricken off the head of the King of Carimania on horseback.  He, of course, married the Prince’s daughter.  I forget what unlucky turn in the politics of that court, combining with the loss of his consort, was the reason of his quitting Persia; but with the rapidity of a magician he transported himself, along with his hearers, back to England, where we still found him in the confidence of great ladies.  There was some story of a Princess—­Elizabeth, if I remember—­having intrusted to his care an extraordinary casket of jewels, upon some extraordinary occasion—­but as I am not certain of the name or circumstance at this distance of time, I must leave it to the Royal daughters of England to settle the honour among themselves in private.  I cannot call to mind half his pleasant wonders; but I perfectly remember, that in the course of his travels he had seen a phoenix; and he obligingly undeceived us of the vulgar error, that there is but one of that species at a time, assuring us that they were not uncommon